


Unorthodox Medicine

by Seanymphe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Doctor/Patient, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Smut, hysterical paroxysms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15923144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanymphe/pseuds/Seanymphe
Summary: Doctor Riddle takes a different approach to treating his patient, Hermione Granger.Tomione Smut Fest 2018 entryPrompt: Patient/Therapist





	Unorthodox Medicine

Usually, he was not so distracted during sessions.

Then again, usually his patients weren't so distracting.

The more she shifted, the more her skirt ran up her thighs. She was nervous, clearly. She always was.

Hermione Granger had been referred to him by a former patient, Ginerva Weasley(boring girl- he referred her to someone else as quickly as possible), and had quickly become his most fascinating client. Unlike most of his other patients, she was not what would typically be considered "insane", and yet was still desperately in need of help.

She was neurotic, yes, but her bigger problem was that she was intelligent and unable to ignore or control the stupidity of those around her.

He, himself, had had similar issues when he was younger(not that he'd ever admit it). His own frustration had turned into rage, which he then used as motivation. Hers was turning into self destructive, near crippling, anxiety managed through an obsessive attempt to cling to control.

Though he had been working with her for months, he rarely saw her when she wasn't exhibiting some type of nervous tick.

But usually her anxiety didn't cause her to squirm all over the couch he had her lay down on.

And usually she wasn't wearing a skirt.

She also usually wasn't this quiet.

"You're tense," he stated, waiting for a response. She stubbornly refused to give him one. "What happened?"

For a moment, her fidgeting stilled. "Malfoy said the reason Professor Snape doesn't like me is because I seem hysterical when I present in class."

Of the people she had mentioned often, Malfoy and Snape were the two most common after her best friends. Malfoy was a childhood bully, Snape was a college professor who refused to ever give her the credit she worked so desperately for.

He put his pen down. "And this bothered you?"

She inhaled sharply, before hesitantly answering, "yes."

"Why?" He pressed.

"I'm not sure."

 _That_ was yet another problem. She consistently had difficulty understanding and identifying her feelings. When her former boyfriend had cheated on her, the only thing she was aware she felt was anger at the betrayal, and was unable to see that the resulting depression was due to her own insecurity.

It had become quite a consistent problem throughout multiple areas of her life. Perhaps she needed practice.

She shifted in her seat again, skirt riding up even further, exposing the bare skin of her thigh.

He felt his cock twitch in response and he discreetly covered his lap with his notebook.

"You said he called you hysterical?" She looked at him questioningly, and nodded. "Hysteria used to be considered an actual medical condition. Did you know that?"

She did, he knew, but asking her questions often soothed her. She'd prattle on like she was reading directly from a textbook and forget about whatever it was that was bothering her.

"Yes. It was believed that a woman's womb could cause her emotional distress and make her exhibit symptoms of insanity. Now we know that to be untrue and the term is not only considered outdated, but offensive."

She visibly relaxed a bit. He smiled. "Correct. Do you know how it was medically treated?"

She hesitated. "It... well it wasn't really treated, was it? It was more or less a catchall diagnosis for any woman who exhibited emotional or annoying symptoms. Psychiatric care wasn't exactly great back then."

"Partially true." Her head snapped to him, eyes sharp. She wasn't used to being corrected. "You're right about it being a catchall term, and about the care being minimal. But during the nineteenth century, they did develop a method of treating it: hysterical paroxysms."

"What?"

"Orgasms," he clarified. "People of the time believed women incapable of sexual feelings, so they did not believe it was possible for a woman to climax. They stimulated these women to the point of orgasm as medical treatment, but didn't comprehend that that is what they were doing."

She blushed, but he could tell she was intrigued. "That couldn't have actually worked though," she murmured.

"That's debatable," he explained, "because for women who were simply sexually frustrated, that release is what they needed. It did not cure mental illness, no, but even then it offered some temporary relief. Even today, within modern medicine, there are sex therapists who practice the technique because it brings clients an immediate sense of euphoria and calm."

Her squirming ceased. Her skirt was still ridden up, exposing most of her thighs.

Not enough, though.

"Oh." That was all that she said, but her body language said so much more. He pupils had dilated. Her tone had become slightly breathy, and the rise and fall of her chest had changed as she laid back on his couch. Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.

He could work with that.

"Hermione, would you be willing to try a therapeutic exercise?"

She turned her head and arched a brow. "That depends entirely on the exercise, doctor."

"You have difficulty letting go of control. I would ask that you let go of that control, and hand it to me with the trust that you will be alright, and that no harm will come to you. All you have to do is follow me without question. Let me guide you, and we can work through any anxiety together."

She shifted again, though this time she had pulled her lower lip into her mouth and began to suck at it.

"Okay."

He felt his cock twitch again, and thought to himself how thoroughly he was about to enjoy this.

"Hermione, shut your eyes."

She did immediately, without question, he noted with pleasure. Again, he wet his lips. Now, the question was what to do with her.

"You're holding tension in your muscles. Lean back and relax," he ordered, and again, she did.

He moved forward, until he was kneeling in front of her. "Hermione," he coaxed her gently, knowing that she liked to be addressed by her name, "you know I care about your well-being, correct? And everything we do in here is for the benefit of your health?"

She nodded.

"No," he told her sternly, "I want verbal confirmation, Hermione."

"Yes, doctor."

"Good girl," he praised her, watching with amusement as she began to blush. He placed a hand above her bare knee, gently pulling her leg off of the couch, feeling her shiver under his touch. She didn't complain, however. "And you understand that for the duration of the exercise, I am in control?"

"Yes," she answered, voice getting more and more breathy, much to his satisfaction. Her chest began to heave, the rise and fall becoming more dramatic as she tried not to pant in anticipation.

Slowly moving his hand upwards, tracing circles with his fingers along her inner thigh, he praised her again. "Good girl, you're doing so well."

His fingertips continued to trace just a bit higher at a time, and as he reached the spot just barely away from the apex of her thighs, she gasped. He smirked and stilled his movements. "How are you feeling? Are you experiencing any anxiety?"

A little whine left her throat.

"Hermione," he warned, voice a bit lower.

"Yes," she finally said, and he rewarded her by resuming his movements. He was barely even touching her yet, and she was already falling apart under him.

"I promised you we would work through your anxiety together. So let's try that. What are you anxious about?"

At that moment, he moved his fingers up higher again, so close to her sex he could feel the edge of her knickers.

They were damp.

"You're touching me," she said, and she reached a hand out to grab him but his reflexes were faster, catching her wrist within his own.

"Need I remind you of the rules of this exercise? You're not in control, Hermione." His voice was clipped, sharp, and it caused her to whimper as she lowered her hand back down. "Now," he said, voice softer again, as though he hadn't just scolded her, "let's work through this. Yes, I'm touching you. What about that makes you anxious?"

The hand that had released her wrist came down to firmly grip her hip bone as the fingertips of his other hand pushed under her knickers, directly over her wet folds.

She let out a kittenish mewl as her whole body tensed, her hips attempting to work against his fingers, only to be held in place by his grip.

"Answer me," he told her, and though his voice was still calm, still gentle, it clearly hadn't been a request.

"I'm afraid you might stop," she gasped out. He rather loved how desperate she sounded, and the way her cheeks flushed at her admission.

Abruptly he pulled back, no longer touching her at all. A soft whimper left her lips, and her body involuntarily jerked towards him.

"And what are you going to do now?" he asked, knowing there was a correct answered and that if she responded properly, he'd reward her for it.

"You're in control," she stated, though the meaning behind her words was clear.

 _Nothing_.

She was going to play along by doing nothing, submitting to his will, suffering as he see fit.  _Perfect._

Placing an open mouthed kiss to the inner skin of her thigh, he murmured against her skin, "and would you like me to do?"

"Touch me, please."

"Where?" He asked, lips still pressed to her skin. Just to see her reaction, he allowed his tongue to press against her thigh for only a second, though it was long enough to coax a soft moan out of her.

"Where?" He repeated, unwilling to give her what she wanted until she complied.

Bucking her hips into his face, she tried to nonverbally express her needs. That wasn't good enough.

"You're getting so frustrated," he said as though he had no idea what she needed, "all you need to do is tell me and I can help you."

The blush on her cheeks was evidence enough that she was embarrassed about asking, that it must have made her feel like some kind of dirty harlot. He laid another kiss to her thigh, higher this time, before backing away. She'd break soon.

Just as he began to once again draw lazy circles with his fingers across her skin, she gasped out, "touch my cunt, please!"

He grinned, thankful her eyes were still shut so she couldn't see exactly how much he enjoyed her desperation.

"But Hermione," he said as though he were explaining to a child, "how can I do that with your knickers still on?"

Immediately she opened her eyes and went down to rip the offending knickers from her body, flinging them to the other side of the room. Sitting back instead of laying down this time, she parted her legs and exposed her glistening core.

She looked at him with a pure look of desperation, entirely at his mercy.  _Beautiful._

Leaning forward, he placed himself back between her legs. He kept eye contact with her as harshly slapped her exposed slit.

A pained squeak left her as her eyes pinched shut. She began to close her legs but he wrenched them apart farther than before, "I did  _not_ ," he growled, punctuating with another slap to her clit, "give you permission to remove your knickers."

Another slap.

"I also didn't tell you that you could open your eyes."

Her body was trembling and little whimpers escaped her with each slap, but she didn't open her eyes again and she kept her legs parted where he left them.

"Good girl," he praised her, "that's better. All you have to do is follow the rules, pet. Remember that and you'll be just fine."

A moan left her throat, and he was surprised that his words alone had this much of an effect on her.

Pavlovian conditioning could be used in a lot of ways. If he wanted to, he could keep her wet, dripping, and ready for him by the start of each and every session, just by wiring her brain to associate coming to see him with sexual reward.

Hands running up her thighs, he spoke to her softly now. "Hermione, open your eyes and look at me."

Just as she did, his hands left her thighs and worked to pin her hips down while he attached his mouth to her cunt.

With every pass of his tongue over her clit, she jerked and writhed but he held her firm, refusing to let her squirm away from his relentless tongue.

Even when he felt every muscle in her tense and strain as her core only became more wet, he didn't stop. She had asked him to touch her, after all.

"Doctor Riddle," she pleaded, voice husky, as she looked down at him. He knew what she was trying to tell him: that she had climaxed, that she was too sensitive.

But she wasn't in control, and he wasn't done.

As her whole body went limp, he removed one of his hands from her hips to insert two fingers inside her, curling them as he kept his tongue moving firmly against her clit.

She shrieked, arching her back so hard it looked almost painful. He hoped it was. He hoped that he had overstimulated her so much, given her so much pleasure, that her body needed a bit of pain just to handle it.

Finally, as she had begun to mumble incoherently, he pulled away. His cock was painfully hard against his trousers and he was not waiting for her any longer.

"Lean over the edge of the couch."

Her legs were wobbly, but he wasn't going to let her wait to get her head back. Pulling her arms into his chest, he held her up only to throw her down against the arm of the sofa, leaving her soaking core propped up and perfectly on display for him.

His hands immediately went for his belt.

He gave her no warning before fully sheathing himself inside of her, too distracted by how  _warm_ and  _wet_  and  _so fucking tight_  she was to register the squeal she made or the way she pushed herself back into him.

If he had been remembering the rules he set for her, he'd slap that pretty little arse of hers and tell her to hold still, to remind her that she wasn't allowed control right now, but his mind was more and more distant with every thrust.

He felt himself coming undone, and he decided he wanted to feel  _her_ coming undone as well, to feel her spasm and clench around him.

"Touch yourself," he ground out through grit teeth.

Her body was still mostly limp, and she dragged her hand slowly, too slowly, towards her core.

" _Now_ ," he ordered.

When her fingers finally met her clit, her moans became guttural, sounding almost animalistic.

Spine arching, her breathing turned to a series of sharp gasps interrupted only by moans and incoherent whimpers. The only thing supporting shaking legs was the way his hands held aggressively to her hips as he thrust into her again and again, no concern about how rough he was being.

If her moans were anything to go by, she liked it that way.

Her core began to clench spastically around his length, and that's when he lost it too. With a final thrush, he finished and allowed himself to lean onto her, panting as he continued to release inside her.

"Hermione," he said, still completely out of breath, "how do you feel?"

"Dizzy, but better," she said. A moment later, she added, "blissful."

He smirked, and gave her a pleased hum of approval.

The timer went off, signaling the end of their session.

He pulled away, tucked himself back into his trousers, and, just for good measure, ran his fingertips over her dripping cunt again. Her only response was a harsh jerk and a resulting whine.

He helped pull her back up, fix her skirt, and straighten down her hair for her. Forgetting to remind her of her discarded knickers was intentional.

"Same time next week?" She asked, though they both knew fully well she was scheduled through the rest of the year.

"Yes," he nodded.

As she moved to the door, a thought occurred to him. "Oh, Hermione-" she turned back to him, "I think, for your treatment, that it's best you not allow anyone else to touch you between our sessions."

A smirk of her own graced her lips. "Of course, doctor."


End file.
